


Beats on a Drum

by RoeLynn



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bad Ending, Cave-In, Crack, Decepticon!Jazz, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Nongraphic description of Alien Birth, Prowl Crashes, Reincarnation, Sad Ending, Trapped in cave, budding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29447874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoeLynn/pseuds/RoeLynn
Summary: Shorts of various AU's and themes. Will update and add tags as my backlog of stories is cleaned up.5. Budding - Bee Baby Part 16. Budding - Bee Baby Part 27. Trapped in a Cave Trope - Jazz/ProwlSummary of most recent: Prowl suffers an untimely crash. Sad ending.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl (Transformers)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 54





	1. Imposter AU - Claws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jazz has a specific frame need he doesn’t tell anyone.

_scraaaaaape. Scraaaaaaaape. Scrrrrarrrrrrarraaaaaaaaaaaape!_

The incessant noise was irritating and frustrating for its necessity, like human nails scraping their fingernails down a chalk-board. Jazz was currently hiding in a far nook of the wreckage that was the Ark’s lower decks. He was as far down as was possible, having gone there in order to hide the very act that was irritating him so.

The giant metal nail file was an item that he had bribed a human company to make on the quiet, though it was not itself quiet. He was currently using it to shorten and sharpen his claws.

A feature of his Polyhexian frame, they were thought to be a fancy mod by the rest of the crew. He had laughed off questions about them, calling them useful for quick weapons and climbing, so he had invested in them early in the war. Of course, that was not true, as he had emerged with them and they would slowly grow on their own. If left alone they would become too long to retract and cause transformation problems.

So he was filing them, tetchily wishing that there was a convenient aluminum tree around for him to hone them the natural way. Or the old filing device he used to have that trimmed and sharpened them flawlessly had been lost in the crash.

Alas, he was stuck with his improvised human-style nail file and the horrific memory of the videos of humans removing or painfully clipping the claws of their domesticated pets. The footage had been burned into his permanent memory while looking for a solution. Those poor animals would forever be missing a personally significant body part that others would not even see the significance of. He could sympathize, glancing mournfully at his third digit, which was missing the claw entirely. 

Ratchet _could_ fix it if Jazz asked, but the moment he examined his other claws the jig would be up. It wasn’t something he could afford to do.

Finally finished, he gave them another look over and admired them for the sake of it for a moment, then retracted them and hid the file deep in his subspace. He grinned fiendishly in amusement as he sauntered back up to the inhabited levels of the Ark.

Only Decepticons had frame types with naturally occurring claws anymore, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by various other Decepticon!Jazz AU’s I’ve read, with no specific plot-line in mind.


	2. Royal AU - Proceeding with a Preggers Poly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is an emergency meeting of incredible international importance. Prowl proceeds to have personal problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something sweet and fluffy for Valentines <3

The meeting, for which all assembled had joined together hastily and with urgency, was running incredibly long. It was with dread that all involved acknowledged that the issue was going to take some days to come to an agreement. It was not ideal for any involved but needs must. Prince Prowl, who was currently mediating the proceedings, had ordered that none should interrupt them in order to come to a conclusion faster. He was especially motivated to resolve the problem quickly. 

So it was with some surprise that a scuffle was heard from behind one of the side doors. It cracked open and an unfamiliar helm poked through, visor staring balefully at Prowl. 

“Ah, excuse me.” The normally unruffled praxian darted out of his chair and swept across the room to the door. The other mecha seated at the table were surprised but hesitantly picked up their discussion again. Prowl’s affairs were none of their business, although the breaking of his own rule was strange and unlike him.

Prowl was not pleased. He had ordered that none should interrupt and here he was, allowing the cause of just such to be heard by him. Although, he thought ruefully, the personal consequences if he didn’t make the exception would be unpleasant. The culprit was Jazz, his first and only consort, soon to be named his Queen Apparent upon their sparklings emergence. 

As such, the problem was caused by the sparkling itself. Their child was healthy, due very soon, and was proving itself strong enough to cause bruising in Jazz’s protoform and internals with their kicking. It was incredibly unpleasant for Jazz, and the only solution to calm the new spark was the presence of their sire’s EM field. Of course, being forbidden to see Prowl at all for the better part of the solar cycle had driven Jazz to his wit’s end.

This was all explained to Prowl tearfully by Jazz in the hallway just outside the meeting room with only the door guards to witness it. Swayed and knowing his pride was about to be bruised to spare Jazz, Prowl allowed Jazz to accompany him into the meeting on the condition that his audials, optics, and vocalizer remained off. If he needed something, he could ping him.

The ambassadors at the meeting table were talking (arguing) animatedly and had completely forgotten Prowl until he took his seat again. Many were surprised to see that he was not alone, for sitting in his lap, being gently adjusted by the Praxian was the mech who had interrupted them. They could now see that the mecha was likely Prowl’s consort, though none present had known that he had even had one. The polyhexian was heavily gravid and looked miserably exhausted. 

The table decided it was safer to collectively ignore the addition, as the poor carrier looked like he had already fallen into recharge, cradled in Prowl’s lap.

It was a long meeting and the consort did not wake once, his field content and happy where it meshed with Prowls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jazz just wants a cuddle.


	3. Young Prowl - Rebuke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl is rebuked for being rude to a customer, by the customer.

Prowl hadn’t known he’d been moody until it was pointed out to him. 

“Don’t be hateful!” The femme he was helping at the checkout snapped. She was having trouble getting the register to take the payment from the correct account, so he’d tried to talk her through it. When she couldn’t seem to manage it and he’d leaned over the till to help her, he’d discovered she hadn’t even answered the ‘is this amount correct?’ cursory question on the card reader display. 

“You need to answer the questions.” He’d told her tersely.

“Don’t be hateful!” Was her reply. It shocked him for a moment, a slap in the face. Where had that come from? He realized it was in reaction to his tone, and tried to sound more helpful than irritated. After more fumbling and several kliks, she managed what should have been a quick, simple transaction and left with a cheery “Good day!”, to which he responded in kind. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the rebuke. Hateful. He certainly did not hate her! He was irritated with her lack of common sense, but that had no bearing on his feelings for her, a stranger! 

He’d heard the phrase before though it had never directed at himself. As a youngling, he’d been over at his friend’s house when their younger sibling had gotten bitter about something. He didn’t even recall what their ire was over, but at the first spite-toned sentence that had spilled out of their mouth, his friend’s creator had been quick as a whip. “Don’t be hateful! You might not be happy about it but fix your attitude! That is unacceptable!” It had been uncomfortable to witness, though Prowl had understood and even agreed with the creator’s point. Maybe that was just the nature of discipline.

He even agreed with the femme that his attitude was slipping from being appropriate, but he was not her creation, and she had had no right to be saying such a thing! For that matter, the instructions would have literally been written on the screen she’d been looking at had she just taken the time to follow the very easy yes and no prompts. It wasn’t hard. 

The situation and the customer’s difficulty reminded him of similar customer blunders he’d witnessed. “I couldn’t find the bell!” They’d tell him, only to discover the large, bright pink sign with an arrow pointing out where the bell was had literally been right under their nasal ridge the entire time and they had just been so phenomenally lazy or oblivious they hadn’t read it. They had stood there for two breems instead, getting irrationally angry at him for not magically knowing they were there when he was on the other side of the store. 

He still felt deeply unsettled by the femme’s comment, twenty kliks later while he was stocking cheap energon bars in an aisle by himself. The upset as he contemplated it made coolant well at the corners of his optics. He was a fully-upgraded mech and wasn’t going to cry over being corrected for his behavior! He had been out of line and deserved it, no matter how little tact she had. Why was his mood swinging all over the place? He was being overly emotional.

He dithered as he debated it in his head.

Did she have to blow it out of proportion, though? Was it even out of proportion, or was it not a big deal and it was all in his helm? Did he even have the right to judge the femme for her response when he had been the wrong to start with? 

Had he been one of his coworkers inclined to spite and anger, it would have thrown him into a fit. Hateful. It was not an emotion he personally thought he had ever actually felt, as even anger was mostly foreign to him. Having been raised fairly sheltered most of his life, he had just never found much to be truly angry over, let alone hateful. He didn’t like it even being associated with himself, frankly.

He forcefully laid his turmoil to rest by acknowledging that he had been out of line, and so had the customer, but the interaction had all turned out fine. Shelving the emotions away, he didn’t allow his processor (and emotional routines) to mull over it for the rest of his shift. 

On the drive back to his apartment and he processed the cycle he remembered the encounter again, though the emotion from it had much cooled. His mood dipped again.

He arrived home and was still trying to come to terms with it not a joor later when his roommate Jazz got home. Immediately he tried to put it out of his processor and greet Jazz like normal, but the mech knew him too well. The musician had guessed that something was bothering him by the time they sat down for their evening energon.

“What’s wrong, Prowl? You seem quieter this cycle.” 

He hesitated. The matter didn’t concern any-bot else, but Jazz’s field was enticingly open and soft. He knew he could trust the mech not to laugh about such a small thing.

“At work, today,” Prowl stated, slowly gathered his thoughts together. “A femme was having trouble figuring out the card-swipe machine. She claimed it was not working. When I looked at it, she hadn’t followed the instructions. It was right in front of her, she just had not read it, so I pointed it out. I had become frustrated and though I believe I phrased it politely, my tone was not respectful. She rebuked me, so I apologized and we started again. The transaction went well after, and she left happy, but I have not been able to put it out of my processor since. I just feel like a chastised youngling with a bad attitude. It was not important.” 

Jazz was quiet for a klik as he thought, and Prowl ran the whole interaction through his processor again. 

“What did she say?”

Prowl frowned and furrowed his optical ridges. “Don’t be hateful. She said it with some passion. It startled me.” Jazz nodded.

“And you apologized?” 

“Yes, I corrected my behavior. I have just felt unsettled ever since.” 

“I think you did the right thing, then. You don’t suffer fools, so her ignorance when the solution was right before her optics must have been frustrating. That doesn’t excuse your tone ‘cuz it’s not the end of the world, so she was right, but she could have been nicer about it. You’re not her youngling to chastise either, though it might have come across that way no matter how she addressed it. You did the right thing even though she threw a bad tone back at you.” Prowl felt relieved.

“Yes, it felt somewhat inappropriate, but I had been in the wrong, so I didn’t feel I could counter it or address it without coming off as rude. I will be working to control my temper better, Primus bless my efforts.”

Jazz smiled. “I think that’s all anyone can do. You want a hug, though?” 

He wanted a hug. So they embraced, and Prowl’s wings drooped as a tension he hadn’t noticed in them dissipated. Eventually, he let go and Jazz got up, heading to the kitchen with Prowl trailing after.

“How’s frozen energon sound?”

“Do we have magnesium sauce?”

“Mmmmm, yeah, here’s some in the cupboard…”

end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on an experience I had working in retail that bothered me. A written form of my thought process at the time through the lens of a character, written a week after the fact when I had worked my way through it and settled some by myself. Re-edited months later when I could analyze it more objectively and could word what I wished someone had said to comfort my angsty teenage internal drama.


	4. Reincarnation AU (Crack) - Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz dies and is faced with an unexpected decision. Crack.

Being T-boned the day he was supposed to graduate from the military academy was the worst timing that Jazz had ever had in his life. At 1,645 vorns, Jazz’s short life was over and he found himself in the afterlife. What he assumed was the Well of All-sparks seemed strangely dark and empty. When he tried to look around all he could see was endless black and a pale dot in the distance. He waited for a while, wondering if something was going to happen, but nothing did. Just a dot in the distance. He grew bored.

Well, he might as well investigate the dot, since it was the only thing there besides himself. 

He found himself a moment later in front of the used-to-be-a dot, which revealed itself to be a pedestal as high as his bumper. On it were two plaques, each with a single word inscribed on them. The one on the left, a pale stone, read “FISH.” The other, a brown matte, read “HIGHSCHOOL.”

Jazz squinted at the strange words. He didn’t recognize them, though they were in plain glyphs he could easily read. The longer he stood contemplating them, the more a nebulous impression of it being a choice inserted itself into his processing threads. It was irrepressible, asserting itself more firmly even as he became aware it was something, not himself giving him the idea. 

He chalked it up to Primus or, forbid it, Unicron. Either way, he decided that he might as well ask a question. Maybe something, or someone, would answer? He then thought about how exactly he would word the question, and another impression that he shouldn’t speak The Words aloud carelessly came to him. That would be making the decision.

“Uh, well then, what are they? What do they mean?” He pointed imperiously and cluelessly at the one on the right.

It worked. He suddenly knew what HIGHSCHOOL’ was… and it was strange. Secondary basic education for organics of all things. Weird.

“Thanks, and what’s that one?” He swung his servo over to the plaque on the left. He got the impression of an aquatic environment, and a multitude of swimming creatures in it.

“Okay, so, what happens when I choose one?” 

He would be inserted into that environment and have to live there. “Why?”

He found himself thinking about all of the years of life he’d had in front of him, now gone. “Okay, why these two options? Can’t I go back to at least somethin’ similar to what I left?” 

Budget cuts. 

Wait, budget cuts? Why was that a reason? The absurdity of it had him re-evaluating the entire situation. Was he alive and in the hospital, so far under on the good stuff that he was having a fantastic semi-lucid recharge flux? He could believe that his brother Ricochet could be whispering nonsense to him to try and influence his dreams like in silly vid-screen dramas.

He got a strong impression of disapproval and that he was kidding himself. He squinted his optics and stared at the pedestal for lack of anything else to focus on.

It couldn’t hurt to seriously contemplate his choices no matter how strange if it was just a recharge flux, right? He ignored the resulting renewal of disapproval. 

So, FISH. Something to do with an ocean, he guessed? The blurry colors he fleetingly saw like an old memory were pretty. He couldn’t tell if it was organic or not, it wasn’t explicitly implied.

HIGHSCHOOL was definitely organic. An establishment for secondary level education for an intelligent organic species. There seemed to be quite a bit of hierarchy being established there. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to be a part of that, especially when the idea of being turned into one of the organics was implied to him.

Maybe he would still end up organic if he picked fish, but at least he wouldn’t have to deal with that brand of drama! 

“Fish!” he declared. Nothing happened. Confused, he stared at the pedestal. “Fish?” 

He’d said it wrong. How could you even do that, he wondered? 

He had to say it like it was written. Thoroughly bemused he tried again and bellowed, “FISH!” 

Abruptly the pedestal disappeared, and he was no longer aware.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many directions this could go. So far, that direction is nowhere.


	5. Budding - Bee Baby Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bumblebee buds some newsparks. His friends help him bring them into the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains a birth scene. No gore/ genitalia involved.

Gestation was the worst, Bumblebee decided. He was uncomfortable, moody, and any new mecha who felt his field and realized his condition would suddenly descend on him with questions of why he was out and about and why wasn’t the sire getting the energon for him? He should be taking it easy and get off his pedes!

Of course, he bristled and told them to frag right off. He was gestating, not an invalid. For another thing, he had budded spontaneously, so there /was/ no sire. So he was tired of the questions and just wanted to do his shift at the monitor station - one of the few light duties he was medically allowed - get mid-grade at the dispenser, and chill in his quarters, thanks.

Honestly, overly presumptuous mecha were the worst. 

There were upsides to being a carrier though, mostly the benefits he was given to help him out. A small increase in pension, extra energon rations, an allotment of paid leave for the decacycle he was due and a quarters upgrade to accommodate the things he would need for the bitlets care.

Well, his new quarters were only different in that he didn’t have to share with a roommate but good enough. He was enjoying his newfound privacy to sleep without being woken up by anyone coming or going and the freedom of not trying to sneak out for his shifts anymore. He missed his friends some since he wasn’t seeing them whenever he got back to his room. Most of his free time was taken up by reading up on everything about being a parent these cycles, along with browsing the human internet for alternatives or ideas for sparkling items. Conflicting shifts made everyone harder to meet with too.

He coped.

He also recharged much longer. He knew that that was par for the course of carrying since a chunk of his recharge was devoted to managing the construction of his sparkling’s tiny frame. As such he had to recharge longer to cover both its energy demand and to have his own defrag processes. 

With a vent, he carefully massaged his abdomen just under his bumper where his gestation tank rested. Unlike the organics habit of becoming gravid and fat, no such change in his appearance would be forthcoming. The sparkling(s) would become only as large as his tank before emerging and until that time came his systems were slowly rearranging themselves to accommodate. 

It was this that was uncomfortable. He was used to quick, full-body transformations from root to alt and back again, and these preparations he was going through took forever and restricted his movement at odd moments. He couldn’t even transform anymore because of it, leaving him in a sour mood. 

He also had to avoid the humans. After Lennox’s reaction and the long explanation he had to be given for him to be satisfied, everyone decided that it would be better if the humans weren’t aware of his condition just yet. Way too many stigmas attached to it for them, ones which simply didn’t apply to a several million years old ‘bot that had no gender as humans understood it and had budded unassisted. Sam was kept out of the loop via his ride, Bumblebee, being out of commission and unable to pick him up. Bee told his favorite human that he had a medical problem that left him unable to transform temporarily and left it at that. He let Sam make his assumptions.

So when he finally got an innocuous little alert stating that his emergence was starting, he was incredibly relieved. Immediately he got up from where he was sitting, having been brooding in a corner of the rec room, and trotted happily to medbay. He pinged Ratchet the good news and his ETA, getting a simple ping back for acknowledgment.

He didn’t wait when he entered and went straight for his pre-arranged emergence chamber, a small room carved into the rock of the mountain that had been destined for storage and was repurposed for this event. Inside there was a nest that he had put together himself (and fussed over for several cycles), waiting for him to snuggle in. There was also a table holding an assortment of emergency equipment on one wall that Ratchet put there, of which some of the items looked more like torture devices that he hoped weren’t necessary.

He whirred in relief once he had gotten comfortable, buried in the wonderful human-made blankets various mecha had donated to him. A large one was draped over his helm and abdomen to keep his warmer ventilations in, heating the air so his bitlings would not be cold as they emerged. His coding was very pleased with this in particular. 

Ratchet wandered in around that point and lifted a corner of the blankets without asking, letting in the cooler air to waft across his currently burning hot abdomen. Bee whined but acquiesced, letting him reach in and place his relatively cold servo over Bee’s gestation tank to scan it.

“Sorry Bumblebee, I know it’s cold. Just give me a klik.” Bumblebee was a little surprised at the apology from Ratchet of all mecha and whistled his forgiveness after shuttering his optics. He missed an amused quirk of Ratchets lips, which was quickly wrestled back under the medics’ control. After a long moment Ratchets servo left and it was dim and warm under the blankets once again. 

“Well, it’s starting alright, no problems that I can see. Take it easy and rest, it won’t be long until your central seam starts opening on its own. Ping me when it does.” Ratchets voice was a little muffled by the blanket but clear enough. He stuck a servo out to make a human ‘thumbs up’ sign, which made Ratchet huff. “I won’t be far.”

Then he was alone again, awaiting the first outwards signs that his emergence was progressing. Fifteen minutes later, he was suffering through several uncomfortable internal transformations when he received a ping from Jazz. Desperate for a distraction he read it and sent an enthusiastic ping back.

Jazz entered half a klik later, once Ratchet was aware that Bee was okay with having him as a visitor.

“Thought you might want some company. How ya’ holdin’ up, Bee? Jazz asked, and Bumblebee assumed that he’d crouched by how close his voice was. 

He gave a weary chirp that denoted his general discomfort and pinged him an invitation. It was a bit forward since Jazz was his boss, but he was also Bumblebee’s best friend and confident. An Amica Endura one day, perhaps. He made it clear in the ping that Jazz didn’t have to accept it at all, and Bee’s feelings wouldn’t be hurt. 

“Hrmm, ya sure?”

He chirped an optimistic affirmative, then groaned a little as it felt like a part moving in his chassis was going to take its sweet time scraping its way past his fuel tank. “Well, if you say so, I'd be honored, Bee.”

Bumblebee gave a cheerful warble and scooted over. Jazz carefully picked his way into the gap between Bees back and the wall of the nest. “Ya’ want me inside or ou’side the blankets, Bumblebee?” Jazz gently rested a servo on his pauldron and rubbed it.

In response, Bee pulled at the blankets until his backplates were exposed and chirped. When Jazz didn’t move quickly enough, he blatted static irritatedly. Hurry up!

Jazz chuckled and slid down to spoon Bumblebee, rearranging the blankets so Bee was fully covered once more. Now with a warm, friendly Em field at his back. Bumblebee enjoyed the embrace as Jazz gently rubbed his abdomen. He could feel Jazz’s cool vents on his neck cables. Tension Bee didn’t know was in him melted away and he vented in relief, basking in Jazz’s hold and field.

A second later a loud hiss made them both stiffen. “Ah, that was quick.” Jazz’s servo was resting over where Bee’s armor and protoform were splitting apart. Bee gave an uneasy whistle, quieting when Jazz’s servo gently smoothed over his helm reassuringly. “You’ll be okay. I got you.”

Bee would have felt that that statement was condescending in any other context, but it was comforting at the moment. He’d never done this after all! He was allowed to be nervous.

He pinged Ratchet and the mech bustled back in after a klik. Jazz lifted his helm out of the cocoon. There was a quiet pause where Bumblebee picked up the buzz of comms but didn’t think much of it as his abdomen was opening rather quickly. He beeped plaintively and Ratchet rested his servo on Bee’s pede through the blanket.

Then the edge of the blankets was flipped up again and Rachet’s optics appeared, peering at him. More scans were done and Ratchet said something about it coming along well but Bumblebee no longer listened. 

He was consumed by a tight cramp pressing his gestation tank forward, slow and inescapable. The intensity was overwhelming and he felt lucky that it didn’t hurt outside of components grinding against each other, moving in strange ways and places. Jazz smoothed his servo over Bumblebee’s throat and he suddenly realized that he was keening, a distressed, scratchy static of a keen that left his intake aching. He shut down his damaged vocalizer with a click. Jazz’s other servo was under Bee’s waist, supporting him with his thumb rubbing gentle circles into his protoform where it was exposed by a seam.

Bumblebee relaxed again and did his best to ignore the invasion of Ratchets servo examining him. 

Then his gestation tank was spiraling open without warning, and he was overtaken by the urge to get up. He heaved himself upright, tugging the blankets with him to retain his cocoon. Jazz moved with him, easing Bee into a more comfortable kneeling position. It was beyond Bee’s limited processing abilities to think about. The arm that had been under him was now around his bumper, helping to hold him up.

Not a breem later the first sparkling was sliding into Jazz’s servo, then placed on his thigh where it latched on like a barnacle with its tiny magnets. Bumblebee caught the second, and Jazz was ready again to catch the third. They were gently set down all over Bee’s lap.

Emergence now done, Bumblebee found his energy leaving him and the partial transformation was reeling everything back in where it could close, doing it much more quickly than it had opened. He sagged back against Jazz, tired from the dealings of the day. 

Vaguely he heard Jazz comment, “well, that was fast. Emergence’s normally that quick, Ratch?”

He only perked up again from the haze of protocol alerts blinding him when a bitlet cried from outside the nest. Bee wasn’t certain when it had been removed from his person, but a section of his leg plating was cold. He summarily dismissed all of the alerts to pay attention better.

Protective feelings rose in him with the newling’s cries. With a lurch out of Jazz’s lap, he flung the blanket away and lunged for his bitlet. There was some yelling involved but Bumblebee successfully snatched it from Ratchet’s servo and retreated into his nest. 

Safe under the blankets with all three of his new sparks, he hunched over them protectively. With great care, he moved them under his abdominal armor, where he unspooled his feeding lines and got each bitlet enthusiastically taking their first fueling. The large blanket he’d thrown away settled back over everything, bringing him a sense of security. He pet each one and laid back down on his side, soothing and caressing them as he checked over each one. The inside of the blankets was illuminated by his brightly glowing feeding lines. This was right, everything was well.

“Bee?” The questioning tone filtered through a buzzing in his audials he only now noticed. It was Jazz. He made a questioning beep back. “Can I cuddle again?” A servo slid up his back from where Jazz had rested it on his hip.

The question prompted his higher processes to come back online abruptly. Suddenly having clarity about his actions, he sheepishly snagged a corner of the blankets and pulled them back. Only the top of his helm and optics peeked out. He made an embarrassed whirr sound and nodded, glancing at Ratchet. When he reached out his field, an apologetic tint to it, the medic surprised him by chuckling. 

“No need to apologize, Bumblebee. I should have waited to ask before examining them. You had quite a few for such a small mech, and I was over-eager to do their first check-up.”

Bee nodded again and ducked back under, this time joined by Jazz. Ratchet left to take care of a walk-in.

They all rested for a time. Jazz wriggled his arm back under Bumblebee's chassis and lightly cupped one of his armor plates, where a bitties little frame was sheltered. His other servo settled on the side of Bumblebees helm.

Eventually, Jazz asked, “did you keep track of their order?” 

Bee hadn’t - the fact was arbitrary, outside of future sibling squabbles - and Jazz pulsed amusement.

“Yeah, figured you’d be too distracted too, Bee. The first was mostly blue, white n’ gray, the second had some red and the last was all yellow, from what I could see.” Bumblebee looked down and picked out which was where, now paying closer attention to their color schemes. They were quite pretty, he thought, with similar colors to his creators and himself. 

He made a happy warble, letting his joy pulse freely in his field. He had three! That was quite a few for one mecha his size to carry, and their minuscule bodies that easily fit in his palms were evidence of it, but that was all semantics. Seeing his creator’s colors again was a nostalgic moment for him, and he couldn’t be more thrilled. He sent a data package of his visuals with his comparisons to his creators over short-wave. Jazz made a pleased rev.

The little ones wiggled, their fields mirroring his joy back at them. Jazz chuckled at the feeling tickling his fingers and used the tip of one digit - claw safely retracted - to reach around Bee’s armor plate and rub the helm of the bitty within. It beeped at the disturbance. 

Eventually, Bumblebee got his new creator protocols and the backup of alerts he’d dismissed earlier cleaned up and could think straight once again. With an appreciative press of his field to Jazz, he sat up properly and glanced at the closed door. He pinged Ratchet to indicate his readiness. He got one back indicating that Ratchet was busy and would get to him soon.

Bundling the blankets so the bitlets were concealed and warm, he turned to look at Jazz, beeping his thanks and mild embarrassment. Jazz slung an arm over his shoulders companionably.

“No prob’, Bee. No thanks necessary, I was honored just to get to witness this, an’ you know I’ll always be here for ya’. Anyway, I fully expect and insist on getting babysittin’ duty when you’re out on missions.” Bee laughed and shrugged Jazz off in time for Ratchet to come back in and raise an optic ridge. “Anyway, I think that’s my cue to head out. Prowl’s been pinging me for the last ten minutes ‘cuz I left in the middle of a meeting with the humans to be here. Gonna go get chewed out. See ya, Bee. See ya, Ratch!”

Jazz failed to dodge the wrench that flew at his helm on the way out. It nicked him with a ‘CLANG!’ and an offended yelp.


	6. Budding - Bee Baby Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The humans meet Bumblebee's newsparks. Fluff

“Hi, Bee! What’s those lumps under your armor? Are they from that ‘medical condition’ you were telling me about?” Sam questioned enthusiastically, scampering up to where Bee was sitting on a couch in the rec room. He’d just been dropped off by an affable Hound, who he’d convinced to get him so he could see his friends. Carly followed more sedately. 

Bumblebee nodded with amusement, watching them climb up next to him. He motioned them over, uncertain on how to communicate what happened with just clips from the radio. This was special. 

Carefully he angled himself so that when he eased an armor plate wider, revealing the bitlet clinging to him under it, they got a good view. Carly gasped and Sam's mouth dropped open comically. 

Par for the course when Sam was alarmed, the first thing out of his mouth was dumb. “Oh my God, is that a parasite?” Carly whacked him hard on the shoulder. 

“Sam, I’m pretty sure it’s a baby.” Bumblebee chirped and waggled his antennae in agreement. “He’s so small! The size of a human toddler. Do you only have one?” He tapped over the other two distended plates on his chassis that also hid sparklings and held up three digits.

Sam was still stuck on the concept of their existence. “Robots can have babies?” Carly seemed to agree with this question and looked to Bee for an explanation. 

“And now it is time for an explanation of "the birds and the bees…”

They weren’t too pleased with this and Sam smacked Bumblebee’s thigh armor. “Don’t get sassy with us!”

Bee just squinted his optics in amusement. Carly seemed to think about it seriously. “Who is their other parent?” 

Sam pitched in with, “Uh, are you the mom or the dad?” 

“HA!” Jazz, who was passing through at that moment burst out laughing. He sauntered over to the couch and leaned against the back. “Well, Bee here is definitely the ‘mommy,’ since he was the one that popped ‘em out.” Sam looked nearly sick at the idea. “Hey, not whatever you’re thinking. It’s nothing like a human birth. Anyway, there is no sire. Bumblebee spontaneously budded them by himself. Typically a budding event only results in one or two, and minibots rarely have more than that anyway, so Bumblebee here is pretty special.” Bumblebee honked in disagreement.

“Wait, what’s budding? Like a plant?”

“Not really, it was just the best English word we could agree on. It means that for some reason his spark had enough excess energy that it spun off and coalesced into a new spark, which then split into multiples. They had to go somewhere, though, so when their sparks were big enough Bee started constructing protoforms for them. They emerged two days ago.”

Carly had been creeping closer as they talked and was now practically perched on Bumblebee’s leg. Sam had trailed after her and stood a couple of feet away. 

“Can I hold one?” She was enthralled with them now, just as most of the bots on the base were. 

Bee deliberated for a moment but nodded, gently prying one that was awake out from their spot. The tiny mech was red with black and yellow highlights, with a greyish blue protoform. He cheeped a few times but limply accepted the handling, and didn’t complain until Carly tried to cradle him like a human newborn.

“I don’t think he likes being held like that, Carly. Can I try?” Bumblebee easily transferred the newling to Sam instead.

Sam held the bitling against his front, splayed out like a star. The new spark tried to activate his magnets to cling like normal, and when it didn't work curled his digits and toes into the fabric of Sam's shirt. His optics were bright with curiosity and not at all afraid. “See, Carly, like a koala!” Bee purred his engine at the sight of his favorite human taking all of this so well. Maybe there were more potential ‘babysitters’ around than he had previously thought.

Jazz huffed in amusement and gently rubbed the top of the bitlets helm with a digit. “Marsupials do seem to carry their newlings around like we do, that’s for sure.”

Carly looked hopefully up at Bumblebee. “Can I try again?” He obligingly fished out the blue and grey one, who fussed for a nanoklik before he soothed them. 

Once securely in Carly’s arms, the bitty calmed and peered up at her face. She made a silly expression, and the newling surprised them all by patting her nose. Carly laughed, the bitty chirped, and everyone smiled.

“When do they get armor? Sam questioned, petting the sparklings back and helm gently. The softer protoform was a firm, mostly smooth surface to his touch that nonetheless was very malleable. It was strange to him, being more used to Bumblebee's hard armor.

“In a vorn, they will start growing harder patches that will later develop into armor. It takes a while, but for now, they are safest under Bee’s plating. Once they do have armor they’ll get more active and explore, climbin’ everyone ‘n everything.”

They were all thoroughly distracted by entertaining the bitlets that no one noticed Optimus entering the room, looking for his third. 

“Hello Jazz, Bumblebee.” He greeted as he approached the back of the couch. When he reached it he leaned over and saw the humans, sitting cross-legged with the bitlets clinging to them. At this point, Sam and Carly had switched sparklings, and Sam had gained the third yellow one, whose yellow and black paint made them look like a miniature Bumblebee. The only difference was a few white spots on their chassis.

“Ah, hello Sam, Carly. Meeting our newest residents?” His tone and field were measuring but the humans didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah! They’re real cute. Very cuddly, like my little cousin.” Sam enthused, idly trying to get the yellow one to let go long enough for Sam to look closer at the tiny digits. Carly smiled and gently squeezed the red one. 

“Hey, I didn’t even think to ask. What’re their names?” Carly asked Bumblebee. Bee shrugged.

Jazz answered. “Bee hasn’t settled on any names yet. Got any ideas?” Sam seemed floored by the idea and glanced down at the bitties in his lap, who were falling back into recharge. 

“Uh, Bumblebee Junior?” There was a round of laughter and Sam shook his head good-naturedly. “Nah, no idea.”

Jazz chuckled one last time and stood up straight. “Well, we gotta go, meetin’s and official stuff don’t do themselves.” There was a round of farewells as Optimus and Jazz left, leaving Bumblebee alone with his friends and sparklings.

With a gesture, he started gathering his newlings up, gently settling them back against his protoform for a nap. 

“Wanna play some video games with us, Bee?” Carly asked as Sam climbed down the couch and got the console out, setting it up for the three of them. Bee gave a happy whistle and they kicked back for an afternoon of games and company, glad to be together again after weeks apart.


	7. Trapped in a Cave Trope - Jazz/Prowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl suffers an untimely crash. Sad/Bad ending.

Prowl wasn’t certain what caused it, this time. The last thing he knew, he’d been calling out orders, coordinating the Autobots offensive line to drive back the Decepticons. The battlefield had started on the outskirts of Polyhex and had moved gradually closer to the city-state itself as the fighting dragged on over an orn. There was a fear they would soon lose Polyhex, as they had lost Praxus and Tigerpax.

The ground shook, spasms like waves disturbing their resting place. Prowl, suffering from a recent crash, groaned in pain. His helm was resting in the lap of a stranger, his frame sprawled out as comfortably as they could make him. One of his servos had a tight grip on some of the armor of the mech’s pede, nearly denting the tough metal. The mangled mess that was their other pede was stretched out of his reach.

“Shu, shhhuuuuuu,” The stranger, a native Polyhexian, murmured to him, gently petting Prowls helm with one servo. The mech had magnetic mods in his servo, they were humming on their lightest setting. Their other servo loosely held a blaster. The mech was sitting against the wall of the small cavern they had huddled in to ride out the bombing. It was a miracle none had landed close enough to kill with its shockwaves, though they could feel the more distant ones tugging on their systems. The stranger’s audial horns were turning and twisting rapidly, only pausing when a BOOM, thruuuuuuUUUAAAMM! was audible.

“It’ll be alright, mech, just you see. We’ll wander out an’ your buddies will have driven the rest off, no worries. They’re smart, bet they found their own hidey’ holes.” Prowl did not even notice the mech's tight grin. His optics were off, as every shockwave they felt rolling over them tipped him closer to crashing once more.

A particularly close BOOM! spurred the mech to hunch over Prowls helm, protecting it the best he could as the shockwaves shook dust and small rocks to plunk against their plating. “That one was close, ‘ay?” 

Prowl did not respond. The mech gathered him up closer as he shook through a second crash, ungrounded energy sparking from his wounds and burning their paint wherever it touched. The Polyhexian weathered it as he had the one before.

The sounds of bombs grew further away and Prowl gradually stopped shaking, his vents running full bore to cool his almost superheated systems. He woke again and began keening, a high-pitched whine riddled with agony. The stranger had to turn his audial receptivity down.

“Shuuuuu, shhhhuuuuuu, I’m ‘ere, mech, you’ll be a’right.” The sounds of bombs were coming more slowly and now moving away. He relaxed some, dropping his blaster to use the mags in both servos to help soothe Prowl’s pain.

The addition of more mags firmly applied down the back of his neck reduced the keen to mere clicking, a sound Prowl could not help, no matter how juvenile it was.

“I’m ‘ere, I’m ‘ere, not gonna leave ya’, mech… Not gonna do that.” He murmured many assurances to Prowl, though Prowl couldn’t understand most of them through the fuzz of his thought processes.

Eventually, his processor worked through the worst of the backlash. His chronometer was down. He hoped it hadn’t taken long. Prowl tried to speak, his first attempt coming out as a blat of static. He had to reset his shot vocalizer to utter the first sentence he had ever said to this mech. “Help me sit up.” 

It was quite an effort to pull Prowl up far enough to get his aft underneath him and next to the stranger, but they did it. He had to slump against their shoulder to stay upright.

Turning off his optics, Prowl diverted some power to comms. When those didn’t work, he activated his emergency beacon. “Help will be coming soon.” He rasped.

“Ah, that’s good.” The two of them then lapsed into silence. Prowl’s helm pounded with every pulse of his spark. He missed the Polyhexian’s mags already.

“Wha’s your name, mech?” Peace broken, Prowl onlined his optics to look dully at the mech.

“Prowl.”

“Nice ta’ meet ‘cha, Prowl. Jazz.” The mech, Jazz, held out his servo. It took a long moment for Prowl to figure out what to do with it but was too exhausted to be embarrassed. They shook servos.

“Hello.” 

It was nice to meet him properly; that was the truth, the only truth Jazz was willing to admit right then. The other truths, the ones he could not voice at that moment, was that he loved Prowl and they were likely doomed.

The cavern they hid in had partially collapsed during the bombing, the ceiling hanging ominously low and creaking dangerously. The way they had come in was gone; neither could walk anyway. The cavern roof might hold until help came, but any excavating could prove their death, and there was no help coming. Jazz had listened to the cries of mecha, high-priority pings, and communications that were supposed to be encrypted go silent one by one. None remained when his comms had been knocked offline by a particularly intense shockwave, along with several other systems he didn’t want to think about. The Decepticon’s attack had been particularly effective.

In a last-ditch effort, Jazz activated his emergency beacon too, reset his audials to high, and listened to the despairing groaning of the rock above and below them. It sent chills down his spinal cords. He prayed to Primus that the several tons of rock and metal above him held.

It would not hold, and help would not come.

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this particular universe, the Decepticons win.
> 
> Jazz had not yet joined the Autobots in this universe. He had been scouting them out sneaky spy style to see if they meant all of their fancy words and promises. In the process, he had fallen in love with the SIC, Prowl, in a very stalkerish way. He definitely would have pursued Prowl, had the battle for Polyhex not have gone so horrifically badly.


End file.
